The Dog-Walking Situation

This is very definitely not to be confused with the fuel and wood situation.  I have not needed to activate the fuel and wood situation until the evening as the weather is still so warm.  It’s lovely but I can’t help feeling deeply uneasy about global warming… anyway, it’s perfect weather for walking the dogs.

These dogs are something else.  They are not at all what I’m used to as I grew up with labradors and generally prefer big dogs.  These are not big.  There’s a small one and a smaller one, and they definitely have a pecking order according to size as the small one defers to the larger one.  But when it comes to walking the smaller one knocks spots off her sibling.  She’s a long-haired miniature daschund and she beetles along, straining at the leash, legs scuttling furiously and long-haired ears streaming in the wind.

I was unsure about whether I could combine my walking needs with those of the dogs as I’d want to go further afield; but I needn’t have worried.  Apparently they’re good for a ten-mile hike which is probably as much as I’d ever want to do.  Today was a much gentler stroll down the road (and I mean down) to tiny place called Kentchurch which consists of a couple of houses, a hen-box and a pub (the one I told you about before with the sign showing the man and the devil).  I met the hen-lady on the way back and asked if they usually have eggs as I hadn’t brought my purse.

It’s a terribly laid-back way of life down here.  Nobody locks their doors and there’s hardly any traffic.  What there is, is mostly farm vehicles or visitors to the castle.  I walked the dogs there yesterday as you can go all the way round without climbing on the ramparts.IMAG0022[1]


I can’t find a photo of the dogs so I’ll have to upload it later.  Time to sort out the fuel and wood situation and make pizza!

Kirk out

On the Border

So: here I am in fairly Welsh Wales, the South not the North and so near the border that you can practically spit across it; in an area planted with ancient castles marking the place where the English (us) were fired on if they attempted to invade; half a mile from a pub called the Bridge whose sign shows a man on one side of the river and a devil on the other (us again: I’ll try to take a pic while I’m here) – a place positively seeping with history and dripping with culture.  The natives are a lot friendlier than they were 10 centuries ago and everyone is very welcoming.  I’ve already met the man from the shop who doubles as the church organist (all the right notes but not necessarily in the right order) and visits from neighbours are imminent.

So far I have been initiated into the mysteries of a reciprocating saw (sort of a milder but still fairly lethal version of a chain-saw); I have comprehensively checked out the fuel and wood situation and I have fired up the Aga.  I have also watched my sister feed the bees (I’ll post a pic of her later in beekeeping suit).  It’s all go here; lots to suss out before sister departs tomorrow for Mexico.

My plans are, besides walking dogs and firing up Agas, to write the beginning of a novel which I have planned.  It’s about gender, unsurprisingly.  So I’ll keep you posted.  Meanwhile here is a picture of Grosmont Castle:


And here’s some Al Stewart to keep you going:

Kirk out